Her brother's lips thinned into a displeased line. "Come, Sarah, you know it is not always as easy as that. I am proof of such, am I not? What mother and Henry forced me into was perhaps a time when I should have shown the remnants of a backbone, but I did not. An act that I will forever regret, but one that I did to save what little was left of my life. Giles kept his distance as per his father's decree. Such action may well be displeasing. It is hard to deny one's sire when they threaten you."
"He's an only child, Hugh. He could have refused, and there would be nothing the late marquess could have done. He may have lost the access to funds, but what is that when you have stood by your morals? Your friends?" People who loved you.
"That is unfair, Sarah. Not everything is so black and white. There are portions of gray in life."
"If he liked us so very much, why did he not come to see me after his father had passed? Why wait until you returned from Rome? Why not write to you and keep your friendship a secret?"
"You know why, he told you himself. While we men may pine for a woman who has captured our heart, realize that we're only living a half life when we're not with those we love," Hugh said, looking to Molly, his face softening with affection for his wife. "It does not mean we do not have pride. And Giles did write to me, Whitstone too. They never abandoned me to my exile completely.” Hugh paused, a frown between his brow. “Can you remember the last words you spoke to Giles on the night you kissed him at the London ball?"
Sarah gasped, heat blooming on her cheeks at the fact that her brother knew of her kissing Giles and their following argument.
She thought back to that night. She could still smell the freshly cut grass, the flowering roses, and the ivy prickle against her back as she tried to hide in the greenery.
"I told him I did not wish to see him again. That our friendship was at an end, and nothing would persuade me to think otherwise on the matter." She swallowed the lump that wedged in her throat. Giles had looked devastated at her words, as if she had ripped his heart out and thrown it into the gardens.
"How can you stand it, Hugh, what the ton did to us, not Henry and Mama, but you and me? We're the ones who paid the price for their deception other than Miss Cox," she said, whispering sorry to Molly, who was the young woman's cousin. "They shunned us, talked about us, and did not hide the fact that we had fallen from a great social height. I do not care what they thought. I do not. I could let the ton go hang and not glance back, but Hugh, Giles was one of those whispers. He agreed with their views, left us alone and without friends. How can you forgive that? How do you expect me to marry such a man?"
Hugh came and sat beside her, taking her other hand. "He never spoke of us. I'm certain of that. He merely went about his own business and got on with things without us to keep his father happy. I suppose when the marquess passed, Giles thought too much time had gone by for there ever to be forgiveness between you and him. But there can be. You can be happy, Sarah, if you let the past go. Truly let it go and stop it from festering inside of you." Hugh winked at Molly, and out of Sarah's peripheral eye, she could see her sister-in-law grinning. "You can love and live as you've only dreamed. I want that for you too. You're my sister, let us not let Henry and Mama ruin our future and our past. They do not deserve the power."
Sarah sniffed, swiping her damp cheeks at her brother's wise words.
Could she forgive Giles? Did she want to have a future with him after knowing all that she did? Sarah only had to think about that fact a moment or two before realizing the truth. Yes, of course, she did. She wanted him in all ways, even if he had acted a total fool and almost lost her forever.
She stood, striding for the door.
"Where are you going?" Molly asked, standing.
Sarah wrenched the door open and stopped, turning to face her family. "To catch myself a marquess before he does something foolish once more, like ask Lady Rackliffe for her hand again, and I lose him forever."
Hugh chuckled, pulling Molly down beside him. "Close the door on your way out, sister."
Sarah rolled her eyes at her brother's wickedness with his wife, only too glad not to be privy to their love. They were worse than anyone she'd ever met, and she too wanted the same.
With Giles.
Chapter 17
Giles stood looking out his bedroom window, watching as the carriage came around from the stable. Behind him, his valet packed his belongings in his trunks. A maid came out from the house's front door, handing warming bricks to his driver, who placed them on the carriage floor.
It would be a cold trip back to London, but it was one he must take. He could not stay here any longer, not with Sarah wishing for him to leave.
He clutched the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders to dispel the tension that plagued him after their last words. He had tried to make her see his position, right or wrong, he had obeyed his sire and, to his detriment, had lost Sarah in the process.
That they could be together now caused frustration and impatience to run through his veins. If only she put the past behind her, stopped allowing others' actions to guide their lives, they could be happy together. Have a life, a marriage.
"Excuse me, my lord. We're all packed. I shall have the trunks carried down and will meet you at the carriage."
"Thank you, John," Giles said, turning from the window, unwilling to leave the Abbey without one last chance of winning Sarah's trust and love.
He beat his valet out of the room, striding toward Sarah's bedroom door when he spotted her all but running down the corridor. His steps slowed, and he schooled his features, unsure of what, if anything, seeing her running in the direction of his room meant.
He stopped, bowed. "Lady Sarah." His eyes devoured every morsel of her, her fitting, complementary gown that showed off her figure to its full advantage. A body he had savored, enjoyed, and worshiped only two nights before. The light-green muslin with pretty darker-green flowers embroidered on it, making her eyes seem fiercely olive.
"Giles," she breathed, fighting to catch her breath.
That she used his given name and not his title sent a frisson of hope to course through his blood. Had she changed her mind? Had Hugh talked her ’round to forgive him? Or was she merely coming to ensure he did, in fact, leave?
Two footmen entered his room behind him, and within a moment, walked out into the passage, carrying one of his trunks.
Her face fell, along with her shoulders. "You're leaving?"
He nodded. "I think it is best, yes."
She watched him a moment, and he could see she was choosing her words carefully. He wanted to take her into his arms, pull her close, and tell her that he was sorry. That he'd never meant to hurt her. That he was simply obeying a father that he never wished to disappoint.
Sarah clamped her hands before her, raising her chin. "We need to talk." She clasped his hand, pulling him down the hall and toward where the picture gallery ran. He'd not been in this part of the house for many years, and following Sarah as quick as he was, didn't allow him to take in the most recent painting of her that Hugh had commissioned.
They stopped at the end of the long hall, the bank of windows overlooking the side of the house's gardens, allowing light to flood the space.
Giles looked back to where they had come from and noted how very alone they were in this part of the house.
"I do not want you to leave, Giles." She stepped against him until the hem of her gown slipped across his hessian boots. "I was wrong to judge you as harshly as I did. While I will not forget or forgive what society did to my brother and myself, I will forgive you. I love you, and I'm sorry for blaming you for all my anger. I will never do so again."
Giles reached for her, pulling her against him, breathing deep the sweet smell of berries from her hair. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who is sorry, Sarah. I should have declared to my father that I would be friends and love whomever I pleased. Love whomever I wanted. It was one of the reasons why I was so angry with
you the night you kissed me. I knew the moment I had you in my arms that we would never be. That through my foolishness, allowing others to dictate my actions and life that the one woman I did want beside me for the rest of my life would not be you. I had offered to Edith, and it was too late. I lashed out, blamed you for my own failings. Please forgive me."
Sarah reached up, running her hands over his jaw. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and he wiped them away with his thumbs when they fell. "No tears. No more looking back. Walk beside me now, into our future. Will you marry me, please? I cannot live another day without you in my life." Never had he ever said anything so true or had wanted anything so desperately in his life.
She was his everything, and from this day forward, if she said yes, his sole purpose in life was making her incandescently happy.
"I will marry you, yes. Now please tell me you will stay. I cannot be without a dance partner for the Christmas ball."
"Wild horses could not drag me away from you." Giles leaned down, stealing a kiss, reveling in the feel of her again in his arms.
He did not let her go for a very long time...
Epilogue
They were married Christmas morning under a steady fall of snow. The small church that sat on the St. Albans estate was full of local gentry and those who stayed at the Abbey for the Christmas festivities. The ball that night a time to celebrate the nuptials of Sarah and Giles and Yuletide.
She stood beside Giles, her arm wrapped about his as they watched some of the guests take part in a waltz.
Warmth blossomed in her chest, and Sarah was sure her heart might burst with happiness at being married to her one and only love. She glanced up at him, caught him watching her, and her stomach flipped deliciously.
"You look like you're scheming something, my lord."
He chuckled, a deep rumble that spiked her need of him. It had been so very long since they had come together, Giles wishing to wait until they were married, and Sarah had to admit she was well past ready to have him in her bed once again.
"I'm simply happy." He paused, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "And looking forward to having you in my bed this evening."
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, and she could not stop a grin from forming on her lips. "Maybe we could slip away? No one will pay any heed to us, leaving early. I should think it would be expected."
A wicked light entered his eye, and he took her hand, pulling her along through the guests as they made their way out a side door that would take them toward the back of the house and near the servant's stairs.
Instead of going up the stairs, however, Giles turned them down a small passage. He moved them toward the conservatory and one of Sarah's favorite places at the estate.
The smell of summer bombarded her senses, roses and foliage of earth along with the trickle of water from the large, circular fountain.
The room was warmer than other parts of the house, as it had a constant source of heat from the two large fires that burned beside the wide glass doors leading into the room during winter.
Giles shut the doors, the snip of the lock echoing about the space.
Sarah turned and watched as he gestured to the space. "The first night that you kissed me in London was warm, and although we cannot sneak outside and kiss against the ivy, I can kiss you properly here, in a room reminiscent of that time."
Her heart lurched, and she went to him, wrapping her arms about his neck. "A new beginning, since you made such a mess of things ten years ago," she teased, chuckling.
Giles growled, hoisting her up against his side. "Kiss me, Sarah, and see if you're rid of me."
Sarah did as he asked, and finally, the marquess was hers, and in no way would she lose him again.
"Merry Christmas, my love," he said, pulling but a breath away from her.
Tears welled in her eyes at how happy she was. How happy he made her feel. "Merry Christmas."
About Tamara Gill
Tamara Gill is an Australian author who grew up in an old mining town in country South Australia, where her love of history was founded. Tamara loves to write romance in an array of genres, including regency, medieval, and time travel.
Find out more about Tamara at www.tamaragill.com
and sign up for her newsletter
Discover more from Tamara, on Amazon
Follow Tamara
On Facebook
On Bookbub
On Instagram
A Yuletide Miracle
by Laurel O’Donnell
A huge thank you to my editors, Brynn in Santa Cruz and Erica at Quillfire.
BEWARE!
If he faintly meowed outside
The misfortune was soon to happen.
Everyone knows that he fed on men,
But mice he would not eat.
Icelandic poem
Prologue
Grandmore Castle
Snowmount, England
1379
The bonfire crackled, and its light cast long shadows over the stone castle walls and barren dirt of the inner ward. Stars twinkled high overhead in the sky. A small group of children sat in a circle with their gazes locked raptly on a thin boy with a stained brown tunic and sandy brown hair.
“I swear,” the boy’s voice echoed through the dark. “I saw it.” He held up his curved fingers and snarled. “Sharp claws and fangs the size of my fist.” He balled his hand, lifting it for all to see. “Drool coming from its lips and black eyes.”
Bastian, the oldest boy in the group, waved dismissingly at him and shook his head of shoulder-length black hair. “You’re making it up.”
“It came last Yuletide, just after I fell asleep,” the boy whispered secretively, leaning forward toward the other children. “It was just like my da said. I didn’t finish my chores, so the Yule Cat came to eat me!”
Bastian crossed his arms, and his lips twisted with disbelief. “Then why are you still alive?” he asked with doubt.
“I ran into my house and hid. The next day when I went outside, there were three long gouges in the snow.”
An icy wind whipped through the strands of Thora’s hair, and she pulled her cloak closed tighter as a shiver snaked up her spine. The small bonfire snapped and hissed. Thora didn’t like the stories about the Yule Cat or the troll woman who came with him on the eve of the Yule. The Yule was a special time of celebration and feasting, a happy time after which the days got longer. A Yule log was burned on the eve of the Yule. She was looking forward to that later tonight. She glanced around the familiar setting of the inner ward, half expecting the black Yule Cat to jump down from the tall castle walls and eat her. Thankfully, the walkways at the top of the walls remained empty; the candlemaker’s shop windows were darkened and empty; the courtyard was vacant.
To her ten-summer-old self, Milo’s story of the Yule Cat was very believable. She looked at the other children in the circle to see if the tale bothered them as much as it did her. Bastian, the one she trusted the most, was her father’s squire. His brother, Nicolas, her father’s page, stood beside Bastian with his chin raised bravely. The baker’s son scratched his dark head and cast a pensive glance at his little sister, only five summers old, who clung to him. Two other squires also listened eagerly to the tale.
Milo shrugged and turned away, his brown hair blowing in a gust of wind. “There’s no way I’ll be making that mistake again. I’ll be finishing my chores by the Yule eve. You can bet your best horse on that.”
The baker’s daughter stared at Milo with wide eyes as she pulled at her brother’s arm. Her brother grabbed her hand, and the two of them scampered off toward the keep.
Bastian glared at Milo. “You scared her. Why do you have to tell lies?”
“It’s not a lie!” Milo argued emphatically. “I just wanted you to know. I must go finish up me chores now. I don’t want to be eaten.” Milo shrugged, sighed, and walked across the courtyard toward the keep.
Bastian’s lips tightened in skepticism. He looked at
Nicolas, who was gazing up at him with expectant eyes. “Don’t believe him,” he advised his little brother. “He just makes up stories.” He glanced at Thora. “Don’t be afraid.”
Thora nodded, but inside, fear simmered like boiling water. Still, she lifted her chin bravely. “I like animals,” she said defiantly.
Bastian appraised her before he returned his attention to Nicolas. He ruffled his dark hair and put an arm around him as the group separated, each going their own direction. “Come on.” He pulled Nicolas toward the doors to the keep. He paused and looked over his shoulder at Thora, who remained standing beside the fire with her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. “Are you coming inside, m’lady?”
She nodded and skipped after them, but something on the ground in the darkness between the candlemaker’s shop and the ale maker’s building glimmered in the moonlight, making her pause. She glanced after Bastian and Nicolas before hesitantly approaching the shiny object. She liked sparkling items. She could add it to her collection of glistening rocks and gems. She moved toward the ale maker’s building and paused near the gardens when a bird suddenly started shrieking in alarm. Tingles raced up her spine. She halted, glancing around. It was completely silent except for the alarmed chirping of the bird.
The shiny object on the ground still beckoned to her. She saw it in the dirt near the half wall of the garden, sparkling enticingly. She took a step toward it, ducking beneath the barren branches of a tall apple tree. As she bent to run her hand over the frozen ground in search of the sparkling item, the bird stopped screeching.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 33
